


A Dinner Party Murder

by huntuer (tuffbeifong)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drug Dealing, F/F, M/M, Murder Mystery, Murder Mystery AU, additional warning for the worst title in fic history, but i had like half a year and a better title NEVER CAME TO ME, hypothetical mentions of homophobically motivated police brutality (which does not occur), im telling you i can write a blurb like nobody's business, it's like agatha christie meets miss fisher but way more gay, sorry yo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:03:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4767725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuffbeifong/pseuds/huntuer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anna Milton is the rebellious daughter of an old money London family: at a party hosted by one of her mother’s friends, she watches a childhood friend, Jane Charles, fall dead into her soup, poisoned.<br/>Meanwhile, across town, Jo Harvelle is on edge: running a gay bar in the seedier parts of the city isn’t without its dangers. And now that one of her patrons (naturally, the only rich one) has been murdered, she’s worried what will happen to her and her clients if the cops are smart enough to let the clues lead them here. So, with two very different motives, the two women find themselves working together to solve a murder: taking them from the world of the London elite that Anna can navigate, to the city’s dark underbelly that Jo knows so well, discovering that Jane Charles had a lot more secrets than either of them had imagined. They also find that they make a pretty good pair, in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2015 Spn Femslash Minibang, with stunning art by cptcarol on tumblr! [X](http://cptcarol.tumblr.com/post/128627486128/a-dinner-party-murder-by-huntuer-for-the)

Anna Milton tugged at the neckline of her dress in discomfort: everything about it was awful. The texture of the organdy material made her skin itch; the neckline was so conservative it was nearly choking her. And to make matters worse, it was a dress in the first place. She longed for the comfortable blouses and trousers in her closet at home. 

That’s not to say that Anna Milton was entirely opposed to dresses: she was certain there were any number of them out there that would be perfectly lovely to spend an evening in. But this one, furnished for her by her mother, was particularly offensive. The pink was a contrived sort of bright magenta, nothing like the softer, more natural colors in Anna’s own wardrobe. The thing was more like a child’s Easter dress than an adult woman’s dinner gown, and at 26 Anna felt more than a little ridiculous in it. 

As she was fiddling with the neckline, she felt someone slide into the seat beside her on the sofa. She turned to find Jane Charles slouching beside her, eyes roving disdainfully around the room. 

“I always figured that the time would eventually come when they’d give up on us, you know?” The girl said, her voice filled with the dry humor that had been Anna’s saving grace through countless garden parties and other family-related atrocities.

“Oh, but there’s hope!” Anna told her friend in the same quiet, dry tone. “Each year we inch closer to the label ‘spinster,’ and ultimately there’ll be another generation of little girls for them to live through.”

“This is very true,” Jane said, nodding somberly. Casting a sideways glance at Anna, she added, “That’s quite a hue you’ve got on. Does your Mother just forget what color your hair is when she goes to the seamstress?”

“I think this one was an intentional punishment,” Anna admitted woefully. “For canceling another fitting. ‘Well, Anna, if you had come to the dressmaker’s with me, then we’d have known what color to use!’” 

Jane laughed at Anna’s impersonation of her Mother’s deprecating voice. The two settled into a comfortable silence, looking around at the other guests. These parties were never fun for either of them, but they were thankful for each other: solitary bastions of sanity in the midst of the chaos that was their respective families. 

Tonight’s event was a dinner party at the Charles residence, celebrating something inane that neither of them could remember. Dinner would probably be fish, assuming they could get through the four or more preceding courses intended to remind everyone how much money the Charles family had. Everyone would say empty things, and gossip about anyone who happened to be out of earshot—or, in the cases of Anna and Jane, within earshot. But they were sort of the low-hanging fruit where that was concerned, and if they were being honest they preferred it that way. Better than playing the game. 

Anna sighed and leaned back into the couch. She could see her mother talking animatedly with some other women on the far end of the sitting room: Anna had heard her mother talk about her sister’s wedding enough times that she could recognize even the hand gestures her mother was using. Once she was done describing the floral arrangements and the gown, and she’d adopted a modest tone to immodestly disclose Anna’s soon-to-be-brother-in-law’s yearly income, the other ladies would ask that inevitable question: “What about your eldest daughter?” The question sounded innocent enough, but Anna had been around long enough to know that it was a thinly veiled insult. _“What’s wrong with her?”_ was what they were really asking. 

It used to bother Anna, but she’d been around this block before. Everyone knew by now that she had no intention of marrying. That’s why she’d moved out of her family’s home (much to their dismay and embarrassment) to rent a London flat. It wasn’t ostentatious, like they’d have wanted it: it was roomy, airy, open. Filled with things Anna liked, and with a door to which Anna held the key. She could come and go as she pleased, she could slump into her couch without someone admonishing her posture, she could make lavish midnight snacks and sit on the counter with a book late into the night. She loved her flat, and she loved being single. 

While they didn’t understand it, her parents knew that much of her reasoning. They were less aware (at least, Anna hoped they were) that in some world where Anna did want to get married, it would certainly not be to a boy. 

Anna cast a sidelong glance at her friend; she’d long wondered if Jane shared in this… _eccentricity._ But she dared not ask, and really, the answer was irrelevant. Jane was a genuine person, probably the only one in the whole room, and that was what Anna really wanted from her. A few swapped comments that acknowledged the lunacy of the whole event, some shared apathy at being used for idle gossip. It got her through these terrible evenings. 

It wasn’t long before the housekeeper came in to announce that dinner was ready, and the pair were swept up in the horde that made for the dining room. Entering the hall-like room, the table set perfectly with lines of silver forks and stacks of intricately painted porcelain plates, Anna found her name at her usual seat. Mrs. Charles knew enough to place Anna and Jane together: years of experience had taught her that Anna and her daughter would swap looks and snicker at the expense of her other guests, so closing the distance between them was wise. She also knew to place Anna and her mother as far from each other as possible: she’d been lucky enough to watch the progression of their relationship, as Anna grew out of being embarrassed by what mother described as her “alternative lifestyle” (which sounded distinctly insulting the way it rolled off of Mrs. Milton’s tongue) and as the years passed Anna had grown more candid in these discussions and things tended to get, as Mrs. Charles euphemistically called it, “heated.” 

Anna made it through the soup course with only a few shared glances with Jane, and was almost ready to chalk it up as one of the less eventful dinner parties in her recollection. In fact, they made it all the way to the fish without anyone saying anything entirely outlandish.

However, just as Anna was finishing up her baked cod, the evening became the most interesting and least enjoyable yet: next to her, Jane’s back went rigid, her hands flying to her neck, and as one of the guests shouted something about a fishbone catching in the girl’s throat, her lips parted and a drop of blood rolled out. 

Anna stared in horror at her friend, and watched as the light left her eyes and she toppled to the ground. 


	2. Chapter 2

At the sound of the door slamming, Jo and Benny shared nearly identical exhausted glances. That was the fourth time this month there'd been cops slinking around the bar, and they weren't stupid. They knew what that meant. 

It meant that the reputation of their bar, which had brought in multitudes of new business the last couple of months, had extended beyond its target community. It was all well and good to be known as the queer bar in the gay community: but now that that reputation was known to law enforcement as well, Jo had started finding it hard to sleep. 

She set down her inventory notebook and looked down the empty row of seats lining the old wooden bar. It wasn't unusual for them to be slow this early in the day, so that didn't concern her much. What she was imagining was the faces she knew so well, of her regular customers and friends, wearing expressions of terror as they were raided and brutalized. 

She felt a strong hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Benny. "Here now, lass. There's nothing to worry about." Jo smiled, and tried to shake the thought off: it kept her up at night, she should at least ward it off in the day time. 

As the sun began sinking lower in the sky, the bar began to fill up with its usual faces. Their clientele was probably one of the most diverse in all of London, with bar stools occupied by everyone from lawyers to chambermaids to bakers to prominent politicians. There were a few other bars in the city that were tolerant to the sort of crowd Stout's Tavern attracted, but Jo had earned a reputation as a woman who didn't water down her booze and devoted herself to the safety and privacy of her customers. She didn't tolerate fights, and she knew how to keep quiet about the identities of her patrons. That, over the years, had earned her a large number of loyal customers, as well as many friends. 

It was a Friday night, and as the hours passed, all the Friday night regulars settled onto their stools. Bela, the thief, was sitting and chatting with her friend and sometimes partner-in-crime Charlie, the streetrat-turned-criminal-mastermind. Charlie was trying (and, as usual, failing) to be subtle as she stared towards the far end of the bar at Dorothy, the quiet and mysterious bounty hunter who rarely spoke to anyone and drank only top shelf bourbon, neat. Sitting between Charlie and Dorothy  making eyes at Benny was Dean, Jo's best friend and a junior detective at Scotland Yard. 

"You had better not be distracting my cook," she told him in a warning tone, loud enough to be heard through the window to the kitchen where Benny's arms were visible at the stove. Deans expression remained cool, but she saw his ears turn pink and she laughed. 

As their early evening rush began dying down, Dean took a look around the room and leaned in towards Jo, his expression serious. 

"You remember that girl that used to come in here, Jane Charles?" 

Jo set down the glass she'd been drying off, nodding. She knew this tone—the one Dean took on when he had something juicy to report, and considering his line of work, it usually ran more towards the grisly. 

"Well, her family has more money than they know what to do with, and they threw some lavish dinner party the other night: real high class affair, 6 forks a setting, the whole nine yards. Anyways, we got a call around nine o'clock, and when we got down there, she'd been poisoned."

Jo felt her mouth go dry; she'd liked Jane. The girl was young, and naïve, but she'd had a sharp wit. 

“Is she…?”

“Dead as a doornail,” Dean said, his voice calm as he took a bite of his dinner. On the whole, Jo recognized that this apathy was necessary to his ability to do his job—but that didn’t make it seem any less callous.

"Who did it?" She asked, her voice low and horrified. 

"We don't know," he said, continuing to make his way methodically through the potatoes on the side of his plate. "We kept all the guests for questioning but by sunrise we had nothing and Chief Inspector Beresford had to let them go home. None of the questioning really got us anywhere, we got differing stories on her, and nothing suspicious about anyone's whereabouts during the party. I think they're questioning the servants today or tomorrow."

"Are you on the case?" Jo asked, still intrigued.

Dean scoffed. "I'm wherever they tell me to be, I'm just a junior detective. And I wasn't about to admit I've met her before, because I'd have had to explain where and why."

Jo nodded, and began to realize the implications this could have. How long would it be until another detective found a connection between Jane and Stout's? Despite Dean's best efforts, they were already under heavy suspicion from the police. While the bar itself wasn't breaking any laws, the clientele were in clear violation of the laws banning homosexual activity. All it would take would be an officer walking through the door at the wrong time, or a carefully planned raid: Jo wasn't sure how much evidence or reason they'd need to get the ok, but something told her it wouldn't be much. 

Unless, of course, they didn't find a connection. In the event that the case were solved without the unearthing of Jane’s time spent at Stout’s, Jo would be off scot-free; or, at least, only in as much trouble as she was in now. Which was still preferable.

As Dean ate his dinner and her other patrons continued their quiet conversations, Jo returned to drying the glasses and found that a plan was beginning to form in her head.


	3. Chapter 3

Anna groaned, pushing Miss Marple off her chest. She’d fallen asleep on the sofa again, and as she sleepily rubbed her eyes and looked over at her (now disgruntled) cat, she realized it had been a while since either of them had eaten. 

Anna hadn’t done much the last few days. She’d stayed in her apartment, ignored calls from friends, refused her a visit from her Mother (which she knew she would be made to regret in the future.) She and Jane had not been close friends in the usual sense, but Anna didn’t have a lot of friends, close or otherwise. And Jane had meant something to her. 

And although she wouldn’t admit it, Anna was also afraid. Who would kill Jane Charles? Why? Anna and Jane had been so much alike. It was impossible for her to lay in bed at night without imagining a similar fate for herself: which found her waking up on the couch with a book in her hands two afternoons in a row, only giving in to sleep in the earliest hours of the morning when she was so exhausted even the thoughts of murder couldn’t keep her up.

She went to the kitchen, Miss Marple not so much following as walking immediately underfoot. Once she’d filled the cat’s bowl, she made herself some toast and coffee and sat down on the window seat in her kitchen. Below, the road was filled with people bustling this way and that way: it was already Monday, everyone rushing around with the beginning of their week. 

Anna pulled her knees up to her chest, leaning her head on the window. The weekend was over, and it was time to begin dealing with her problems, instead of skulking around her apartment in her underwear, jumping at every sound and drowning herself in philosophy books. The police hadn’t seemed to make any headway at the Charles’. That meant that Jane’s killer was still out there, their motives and identity unknown. 

Jane hadn’t been a good friend, in multiple respects: they hadn’t been close, and Jane hadn’t been very reliable. But she shouldn’t have been killed, and Anna didn’t think she could let that go. 

She stood up and crossed the apartment, entering her bedroom: the sun was truly up now, and her entire flat was bathed in bright, natural light. The wooden floors gleamed, the pristine white curtains glowed. She threw open the doors to her closet, pulling out her favorite, navy green slacks and a comfortably loose white shirt. She was going to take a bath, get dressed, and start figuring out what had happened to her friend.


	4. Chapter 4

Jo was beginning to regret telling Dean he couldn’t come with her. 

She was standing on a balcony at the Charles’ town home, and trying to pry open the window was proving hard with arms that felt like jelly from climbing up a vine-covered stone wall. 

The Charleses had decided to leave town for their country home, following the tragic death of their daughter. _And I thought it would be such a swell idea to treat myself to a little look around, didn’t I?_ Despite her dark excitement at the thought of a little sleuthing just hours ago, Jo was not feeling very amused with herself; but she finally felt the knife she was holding make contact with the bolt in the window, and with a few moments of finagling, she was able to push it aside, freeing the lock. 

She climbed in quickly, hoping no one had been playing witness to her extended stay on the balcony. Looking around in the dark, she found herself in an office: she took a look down at the desk, pulling out her flashlight and shining it on the papers littered on top of it. 

The second the light came to life, however, she yelped as she made out a figure in front of her in the gloom. Nearly dropping the flashlight in her terror, she pointed it at the figure’s face, who held up a hand to her eyes, momentarily blinded. It took a moment, but as Jo looked at the girl in the doorway, she relaxed a bit: this girl didn’t look like she was supposed to be here either, and Jo got the gut feeling the redhead was as terrified of Jo as Jo was of her. 

Still on her guard, she demanded, “Who the hell are you?”

The redhead shot her an almost dirty look. “I don’t think so. People with the right to ask that question don’t usually enter through second floor windows.”

The girl had Jo on that one. The idea of acting like she was the one with a right to interrogate was seeming a little more foolish now that she knew the girl had watched her entry. Come to think of it, very foolish—she and that lock had had more than enough time to get acquainted. There was a very good chance, to Jo’s reckoning, that this girl was more practiced in the breaking-and-entering arts than she was, and that she knew it.

“Are you here to rob the place?” Jo tried next, keeping her voice hard and unafraid. 

The redhead’s eyebrows shot up. “No. Are you? You don’t look like you are.”

Jo was stumped at this. “I don’t…?” She let the question dangle as she looked down at herself. 

The corner of the girl’s mouth turned upwards. “All you have is a flashlight. I’m not a burglar myself, but I always imagined the process as including bags, maybe a lock picking kit…I think you used a steak knife on that window latch, so my guess is that you’re here in a more…investigative role.”

Jo colored at that. The other girl’s sudden confidence was a little staggering—she was dressed in stylish, tailored black pants and a loose-fitting, buttoned shirt underneath a long black coat. She was leaning comfortably against the doorframe, and Jo began wondering if she’d just imagined that initial fear moments before. Jo looked around, and the girl didn’t seem to have any burgling-type equipment either. 

Trying to mimic the redhead’s easy self-assuredness, Jo said, “Takes one to know one.”

They were both silent for a moment, but Jo broke first, lowering her flashlight from the girl’s face and stepping forwards. She watched the girl straighten up, her stance turning defensive, but Jo just extended her hand. 

“I’m Jo. If we’re both here for the same reasons, it shouldn’t be too hard to keep from getting in each other’s way.”

“Anna,” the girl said dubiously, shaking Jo’s hand. Her grip was firm, despite her hesitant tone of voice. 

“Of course, if we’re going to be working together, I’ll need to know a little more about you and why you’re here. ‘Investigating’ is a pretty broad term in this context,” Anna went on, her tone unreadable past a hint of dry humor.

Jo shot a sidelong look at the girl; they’d left the office and were standing in the hall. There were more reasons to be here than the search for justice. In fact, there were more likelyreasons. Assuming this girl _did_ know what she was doing, that her almost cocky manner was borne of experience in activities that left the realm of legality, who was to say that she wasn’t here to do away with some last shreds of evidence that would incriminate her? Maybe evidence that would _rightfully_ incriminate her. The girl didn’t read like a murderer at first glance, but Jo imagined the better ones tended not to. And from what Dean had told her, whoever had done this was stumping the authorities.

On top of that, how would Jo explain why _she_ was here? Her whole plan was designed to keep the bar out of things. She could pretend that she had been Jane’s friend, but then, that could easily be why this girl was here. Spinning a web of lies that she’d have to back up didn’t sound like a viable course of action, so she opted for a route of intentional (perhaps even mysterious?) vagueness. 

“I have…a personal interest in bringing Jane’s killer to justice.” She said finally, watching Anna’s face carefully for her reaction, but she couldn’t make much sense of the expression she found there. Already, that was becoming a trend. So much for being the mysterious one. 

“So do I,” Anna replied quietly. The two girls looked at each other, and Anna seemed to decide that was enough information, because she went on, “I haven’t been here much longer than you. I came in downstairs through the conservatory, and I was going to start in Jane’s bedroom.”

“Not in the dining room?” Jo asked, confused. “I thought that was where it happened.”

“It was.” Anna said simply. Jo decided to follow the other girl’s lead, and she followed her down the hall. 

“You know your way around the house?” she inquired, trying to keep her tone light.

“Yes.”

Jo bit back a sigh. It was clear this girl was not going to tell her anything else—she got the feeling that she had boarded up that avenue of discussion with her own refusal to explain herself. So, the two fell into a distinctly uncomfortable (but probably wise, considering their task) silence as they crept through the winding passages of the mansion. 

The home was luxurious, even more so on the inside than it had appeared from the street. It was an old, well built home, with stone walls and thick carpets. The walls were hung salon style with more paintings than Jo thought she’d seen before in her life combined. Lamps lined the tables and walls of the passageways, and they passed dozens of solid wood doors. Finally, Anna led the way up a narrow stairwell and up to a door. She stopped so suddenly that Jo nearly tripped over her. 

Reaching into the pocket of her trousers, Anna pulled out a pair of black gloves and slipped them on. Regardless of her intentions, she had certainly come prepared, which Jo was realizing she’d not done so hot on, armed with her flashlight and her knife (it wasn’t a steak knife, it was a boot knife, thank you) and her general lack of a plan.

Anna tried the doorknob with her gloved hand, but didn’t seem surprised when it didn’t give, and crouched down to kneel before it, reaching into her other pocket and withdrawing a small silver case. 

Anna opened the case with a small click, revealing a set of tarnished silver lock picking tools. Studying the old bronze lock, Anna silently withdrew two of the silver key pieces and began turning them around carefully in the lock, her ear against the door, listening for the faint clicks of the interior mechanism. 

Jo watched, not so much surprised as impressed, and she began to wonder why it was she couldn’t seem to meet a nice girl who didn’t fit the description “criminal.” At the same time, though, she found she wasn’t exactly complaining—this whole teamwork thing was proving very helpful for her. Assuming the girl wasn’t going to kill her as the last person who could connect her to the crime. 

It took a few minutes and a few different variations of the picks, but ultimately a grin spread across Anna’s face as she gave a twist and turned the knob, pushing the door open. 

“That was one of the last things I’d have anticipated from one of Jane Charles’ friends,” Jo couldn’t help but saying, watching the redhead’s face for any reaction to her word choice.

“Jane Charles would have probably had the same reaction,” Anna replied with nothing but an amused smile. It figured, in its way, that her answer would raise more questions without answering any.

Jo looked around: the door had opened into what looked like Jane’s personal parlor. There was a sofa and a chaise, a few chairs, tables and lamps. The place wasn’t a mess, but it wasn’t tidy either: sweaters and shawls were hung over the backs of the chairs. Three or four empty teacups and glasses littered the tables, there was a stack of books on the floor and some haphazardly strewn about the room. Jo watched as Anna took this in; the other girl didn’t look surprised by what she saw. Jo followed her through a door at the opposite end of the room that let them into what must’ve been the girl’s bedroom, and here they were met with a much larger mess. 

Clothes lay in heaps on the ground, papers and dishes covered most of the surfaces. The bed was just one big pile of sheets and pillows, the wardrobe doors stood open with garments hanging out: from the look of things, Jane hadn’t let the maid into her room in weeks, if not longer. 

Anna began picking through some of the things on the floor, still quiet. Jo went to the desk, using a pen she found there to move some of the mugs and dishes aside and begin perusing the papers. 

Most of it looked like junk: sketches and bad watercolor paintings of meadows, the sort of thing Jane used to complain about over the bar counter to Jo as things her mother made her do. They really were as bad as Jane had described them. 

She pushed some of these out of the way and found some books. Mostly Gothic novels and romantic capers, none of which looked particularly good. Underneath some more of these, however, she saw a soft leather cover embossed with Jane’s initials, and with a furtive glance towards Anna (still stooped over and picking through the heaps on the floor) she picked it up and opened it. 

It was a sort of journal, and a sort of day-planner. Jane’s handwriting was atrocious, but Jo could make out scribbled notes—things like “Call on Emma, Tuesday,” and “Book: give to Eric.” She flipped through a few pages, with jotted down addresses and more meaningless notes, but stopped short when she saw, written clearly on the top of one page, “Stout’s Tavern—7:00. £250.”

She bit back a curse. What the hell was Jane doing at Stout’s with £250? She looked back down at the desk—the journal had been pretty far down in the clutter. Would the police have returned it there if they’d found it? Had they even conducted a search in the bedroom yet? What would be more incriminating, leaving it there for them to find, or taking it and further incriminating herself?

She glanced again at Anna, who was peering into the nightstand drawer, and made the quick decision to cram the journal into the waistband of her pants, suddenly glad she’d worn a looser pair. 

Leaving her shirt untucked to hopefully conceal the rectangular shape her stomach had suddenly taken on, she tried to combat her nervousness by asking Anna, “Find anything?”

“I think I have,” Anna said, her voice dark rather than pleased. 

Jo crossed over to where Anna was standing. She’d pried up a questionable looking board in the floor near the bed (how on Earth was she so quiet?) and was holding a box, roughly 8 inches long and 6 across. Inside was a package made of brown paper, the corner of which Anna had lifted to reveal that wrapped inside was a white powder. 

Jo let out a low whistle. “I didn’t have her pegged as the type,” she admitted, unhappy. Her bar may be filled with delinquents and thieves, but just like her rules about fighting, she had a zero-tolerance for drugs. 

“I had no idea,” Anna said, and her voice was finally breaking, revealing a sort of self-blaming misery. 

Jo wasn’t sure what to do—comfort her? She was fairly certain by now that the girl didn’t have any plans on killing her. Tentatively, she laid a hand on the other girls forearm. “She was very good at hiding it. And now we’re a step closer to finding out what was going on, and who did this.” It was a nice speech, to Jo’s mind—a little dramatic, but Anna seemed to take some comfort from it. 

“I think we should put that back and head downstairs to the dining room,” Jo suggested, and Anna’s face turned steely as she nodded in agreement.


	5. Chapter 5

After what felt like days, Anna pushed shut the door of her apartment, letting out a deep breath. She had felt uneasy since before leaving for her little espionage, and even more so when she found herself with an unexpected companion. 

While she was at last back in the comfort of her own home, however, she was still not alone. She peered through the archway into the kitchen, where she saw Jo hesitantly taking a seat at the counter. 

After all the excitement (and the dim lighting and general confusion) Anna finally had a chance to survey her new partner in crime. Jo was medium height and slender, but her posture and movements had a fiery, aggressive sort of strength to them, like she might at any moment fly into action. She had long, wavy blond hair that fell down her back in a hap-hazard sort of ponytail, and she was dressed in slacks and a plaid shirt that were ill-fitting in just the right way: shirtsleeves rolled up in an effortless sort of way, pants hugging her hips (and the very obvious book she’d hidden there in Jane’s room.)

Anna dragged her eyes back up towards Jo’s face, suddenly conscious that she knew next to nothing about the other girl. Who had she been to Jane? Did she have some dark, ulterior motive for investigating her death? Stealing that book was suspicious enough. Was she connected with the murder, maybe even trying to remove evidence of her entanglement? There were countless possibilities. 

“I’ll make us some coffee,” Anna said, moving into the kitchen to join her guest. 

“Oh, um, thanks,” Jo said, still looking uncomfortable. 

“Is something wrong?” Anna asked, her brow furrowing. 

“No, it’s just…I’m not really accustomed to anyplace so ritzy.” Her face spread into a good natured (albeit still uncomfortable) grin: “I’m suddenly very glad we came to your place rather than mine, I’m finding myself sort of embarrassed.”

It was Anna’s turn to grow uncomfortable. “It’s just…you know. I’d rather, really…” She trailed off. This wasn’t a conversation she liked having: I’d rather live someplace…less? She wasn’t sure how to articulate it, but their surroundings gave her an equal-and-opposite discomfort. In all its beauty, this apartment and all its luxury were a constant reminder of the metaphorical chains linking her to her family. She could live separately, but not entirely. Knowing that they paid for her livelihood, that they owned her that way, took away from the beauty of the place. And knowing how thankless it was that she resented her own good fortune further proved how wasted it was on her.

But that wasn’t quite the way she wanted this conversation to go. 

“It’s alright, I’m just kidding,” Jo said, rescuing her with her easy voice. Anna joined her at the wooden counter, and the two drank their coffee in silence. The apartment was beginning to brighten, the sun beginning its ascent over the city outside. They’d been in that mansion the whole night, and their findings had raised more questions than they’d answered, although Anna supposed that there was no other way for an investigation like this to go. 

“Well, there’s nothing for it, I suppose.” Jo said, her voice wry. 

Anna looked at her quizzically. 

“I think it’s time we spilled. I’ll tell you what I know about Jane if you tell me what you know. Leave nothing out. Between what we found in her room, what you saw at the party, and what we can piece together…that’ll have to give us something, right?”

Anna sat for a moment in silence before nodding and taking up a pen and pad from a table near the window. 

“I know Jane from the bar I own,” Jo said, her voice a little strained. “I’ll tell you up front, it’s a bar with a specific clientele: a group to which Jane belonged.” 

Anna watched Jo’s expression, and saw that Jo was watching her own very carefully. “Okay…” Anna said, baffled. 

“We’re a gay bar,” Jo said, still watching Anna. 

“Oh.” 

“Yes. Oh. Well, Jane used to come in a lot. Most nights, actually. She was young and naive, but funny, and she got along great with a bunch of the regulars. But then, after a while, she started coming in a little less frequently, and then she started bringing in some of the shadiest characters I’ve ever seen. One night a couple of them got in a fight, and I don’t tolerate that. They were out and they knew they weren’t welcome back, and I haven’t seen Jane at Stout’s since.”

Her story screeching to a halt, she looked at Anna expectantly: apparently waiting for some sort of response. 

“That’s all? You just knew her as a customer?”

 The question seemed to satisfy Jo, who looked almost relieved. Anna supposed she must be glad that they wouldn’t be engaging in a discussion about sexuality—she was no stranger to that feeling. 

“Well, that’s the thing. I have a no-tolerance fighting rule at Stout’s because we can’t afford to have the authorities poking around. Best we keep under the radar. And a murder investigation ranks among the list of things I want to keep out of the bar, for the sake of my clientele…something tells me the police wouldn’t hesitate all that much to just raid the place for coming up in the investigation.”

Anna finally understood. “So what you’re trying to do is wrap up the whole case before they get you or your bar involved at all.”

Jo winked at her, and Anna tried to hide her blush—the girl was really very cute.

“If you’re just trying to solve the crime before getting involved, why did you steal something from Jane’s room?” 

Jo looked a little like Anna had socked her in the gut. “You saw that?”

“You had a whole book inside your shirt. It was pretty obvious,” Anna said. 

Jo looked sheepish, pulling the book out from where she’d moved it to the back of her waistband. “You could’ve mentioned it sooner, I’ve had this thing digging into my waist for how long…” she muttered, flipping through until she found the page she was looking for. She showed Anna, who nodded solemnly. 

“I was about to tell you,” Jo said a little defensively. “I was only hiding it earlier because—you know, I wasn’t sure which side you were on.”

Anna nodded. “That’s fair,” she said. 

“Ok, now your turn,” Jo said, leaning over onto the counter and gazing at Anna, who was pouring their cups of coffee.

Anna told her about the connection between their two families, and the fragile friendship the two girls had forged. 

By the time she was recounting the events of that dinner party, the two had found their way to one of the flat’s couches, and it wasn’t long before they drifted off, overtired and confused, but ultimately glad to not be alone.


	6. Chapter 6

When Jo awoke, she didn’t know where she was. She jumped, and then regretted it: nestled in her shoulder was a mess of bright red hair. 

Staying perfectly still, she saw Anna’s breathing even out as she remained asleep despite the sudden movements. The two of them were sprawled out lengthwise on one of the impossibly soft couches in Anna’s apartment, their limbs all tangled up. Jo’s own arms were freezing, but she didn’t dare leave the couch to find a blanket for fear she would wake the other girl. 

Anna’s apartment was…ostentatious was the word that came to mind. It made sense, looking back at what she’d learned last night: this girl was Old Money, as had been Jane.  

Anna herself—Jo wasn’t sure what she’d thought of the other girl at first. She’d so cool and collected, with her fitted clothes and gleaming hair. Oddly, that first impression of the confident cat-burgling girl had shifted to one of a quieter, more mysterious one. Jo wasn’t sure what to think of her, in all honesty.

Well, that wasn’t true either, was it? Jo had the feeling that most of what Anna had said and done since they’d met had been genuine. She reminded Jo of Jane that way—another witty girl who only revealed so much about herself, then closed up. Anna didn’t seem like she was putting on any acts, for herself or for Jo. 

One way or another, though, she couldn’t deny liking the feeling of having her new companion’s arms wrapping lazily around her waist as they lounged on the sofa, so she let herself sink into it and float in that space somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, her eyes watching the play of early morning light across the wooden floor from under drooped lids.

When she opened her eyes again, she could tell from the way the sun hit the walls that a few hours had passed: it was at least noon by now. She was also alone, a blanket laid carefully over her. 

Getting up and stretching, Jo wondered if it would be rude to go in search of her host: wandering around a stranger’s home alone seemed like a bit of a faux-pas, but awkwardly waiting there by the couch didn’t appeal to her either, so she set off hesitantly in what she thought she remembered being the path to the kitchen. 

In full daylight, the apartment was even more beautiful than she had thought: the walls were filled with tall windows that flooded every room and hall with natural light. As she reached the kitchen, she found that the windows had been pushed open, their soft white curtains billowing softly in the breeze. Anna was seated at a small wooden table near the windows, with the notebook in which the two had been compiling their knowledge of the crime. 

When Anna saw her, a smile spread across her face: a face Jo had begun noticing was very pretty. A sweet sort of face, but with that peculiar ability to switch to mischievous at a moment’s notice. Her large, hazel eyes looked innocent, peering up from beneath thick lashes, but Jo also remembered the way they’d looked the night before, when the redhead had leaned into that doorframe exuding confidence and intrigue. 

So, in keeping with the last 12 hours, Jo still didn’t know what to make of her. 

“Did you sleep well? I’m so sorry I fell asleep, I’d have offered you a bed…”

“No, no, I slept fine. We were exhausted. I’m sorry I slept so late…have you been waiting long?”

“Not at all,” Anna said, smiling warmly as she stood and moved over into the kitchen. “I was just about to make some lunch, so you have perfect timing.”

Jo went to the counter they’d sat at the night before, climbing up on one of the stools and watching as Anna began pulling things out of the icebox and pantry, watching as she neatly made a plate of sandwiches and sliced up some apples. They sat together in the table by the window, looking out at the early afternoon hustle and bustle of the typical city Tuesday that was passing about outside. 

Halfway through her sandwich, Jo nearly jumped out of her skin, making Anna start. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes—I mean, no, but yes—“ Jo said frantically, looking about herself before jumping out of her seat and digging into her pockets for her keys. “But I just realized, I left Benny to open for lunch all on his own, and I didn’t leave any sort of note, and he’ll have noticed that I’m not there and I never do that, and he’ll probably be worried that the worst is happening because the cops have been snooping around the bar—“ she was rambling, and Anna stood up and laid a hand on her arm, reassuring. 

“Would you like a ride?” She asked calmly. 

Jo stared at her. “You drive?” she asked, mostly in relief. 

Anna nodded, smiling again. “Let me change really fast, and we can go. Do you need anything to wear?”

“No, no it’s ok. My flat is above the tavern. Um…thank you so much…” she was embarrassed. Her reaction was a little less cool than the persona she’d been trying to adopt in front of Anna. But the other girl didn’t seem to mind, and she disappeared down the hall. 

It only took Anna a couple of minutes to change, and she was back in the kitchen, wearing a variant of the same outfit she’d been in last night—only in place of the charcoal and black she’d used to slink around at night, today her pants were a heather gray and her loose, breezy shirt a sage green that made her long red hair absolutely glow. 

Jo tried not to look like she was staring as Anna slipped the notebook into a bag over her shoulder, and jingled a set of keys. “Ready to go?”


	7. Chapter 7

Jo burst through the door of the tavern and received an equally relieved and frustrated “Hallelujah!” from Benny. Grinning, she relaxed and headed behind the bar, hurrying to begin setting out glasses and checking bottles. There were only a couple of people in: lunch customers were usually limited to regulars who found themselves in the area around midday. Business wouldn’t pick up for hours yet.   

Anna, who had followed Jo in, sat down uneasily at the bar, looking around with great interest. 

“Benny, get me and my friend some lunch!” She called through to the kitchen. To Anna, she added, “I dragged you through the door after you were so kind to make us some, so now you get to get acquainted with some of the best cooking in the city.”

Anna smiled and nodded. Benny, though, leaned over the counter from the kitchen to see who their guest was. “Jo, I didn’t know you made such pretty ‘friends,’” he said snidely. She swatted at him, but he dodged and went on, “At least now I know you had a reason to be late and scare the shit out of me.”

“Benny, if you can’t be polite in front of guests, get back in the kitchen and cook,” Jo said sheepishly, shooting an embarrassed look at Anna, who only grinned. 

“You own this bar?” the redhead asked in amazement.

“Oh, yeah. For about seven years now, I think. It’s nothing fancy, but we do all right.” Jo’s words were humble, but she was practically gleaming with pride. 

Over the course of the next hour, Anna watched the pub’s clientele filtering in: by the way Jo greeted them, she could tell they were largely regulars. As the general din rose and things began to grow more hectic, Jo took to leaning over the counter and murmuring in Anna’s ear, to keep her up to speed. Anna was glad for how hot and dim it was as evening settled in: she could feel a hot blush creeping up her neck and ears each time Jo’s lips brushed against her ear with a new introduction or snippet of gossip. 

The group of people that filtered in weren’t what Anna had expected when Jo had first told her about Stout’s. But then, now that she looked back, Anna couldn’t remember _what_ she’d expected. There were squat little women in bowler hats, gangly men in shiny shoes, sailors with arms like hairy tree trunks, and sly-eyed young women sipping glasses of whiskey. 

One of the latter was introduced as Bela Talbot, and Jo nonchalantly explained that she was a thief. Anna was also introduced to Dean, a detective from Scotland Yard, and Charlie and Dorothy, who were both bounty hunters—although only one of them looked the part. _But then_ , she thought, _maybe that was the point_.

The tavern grew noisy, but stayed lively rather than noisy. Anna supposed that Jo had been quite serious about the behavior she required in the bar. As the evening wound on, though, Jo was able to hand over most of the bar tending to Benny and another man working there, and she joined Anna on one of the barstools. 

“Sorry to drag you out here and waste the whole evening,” Jo said, sounding genuinely embarrassed. 

“Not at all! You have responsibilities, and anyways this is as much a clue as her house was. Plus,” she added, a little quieter, “I’m having a lot of fun. I never knew there were places like this.”

She averted her eyes in embarrassment: she wasn’t accustomed to talking about things like this, not ever. But Jo just smiled, and placed a hand on Anna’s own where it rested on the bartop. 

“Well, you know you’re welcome any time.”

For a second the two just looked at one another, but then Jo said “Well, I’d say we have some investigating to do.”

Standing up and leaning over the bar, she called out to Benny: “You think you can close up tonight, B?”

“Oh, sure,” he said sarcastically. “Might as well, seeing as how I opened up earlier.”

“You’re the best!” She shouted, twirling away from her barstool and beckoning for Anna to follow her. She led the way around a corner to an old wooden door, which she unlocked with a key from her pocket. 

The door led into a stairwell, and when they reached the top Anna found that they were in the apartment over the bar, where Jo lived. 

“Sorry, I’ll just change and then I’ll be ready to go,” Jo said, darting through a door a little ways down a hall and leaving Anna to look around.

The place was full, in a cluttered sort of way but without being dirty. In some ways, it felt like the very opposite of Anna’s own home: where Anna’s was airy and open, Jo’s was filled with bookshelves that were full to bursting, old weapons and other oddities mounted to the walls. Anna’s was so clean and bright it felt almost sterile at times, and Jo’s was so lived in. It felt loved and genuine, like the person who lived there never felt at odds with her surroundings. 

Before she knew it, Jo was back, standing at her side. “Ready?” she asked brightly, not even seeming to notice their surroundings, and Anna was surprised to find that she was sad to leave. But she didn’t say anything.


	8. Chapter 8

Outside in the street, Anna pulled on her driving gloves and climbed into the car. 

“Where are we going?” she asked, trying to mask her confusion. At some point Jo had gotten ahead of her, since the last lead she remembered was the tavern they were now leaving. 

“Well,” Jo said, her eyes bright as she leaned in to murmur conspiratorially, “I was talking to Benny. The man has a memory for faces and names, and I asked if he remembered those unsavory characters Jane was running around with towards the end, and he did. Well, he remembered one of them. His name is William Waters, and he owns a warehouse down by the shipyards.” Jo looked a little pleased with herself, which Anna was finding nearly irresistibly cute. “He even remembered where this particular warehouse was, because it was on Benjamin street.” She finished and looked at Anna to gauge her reaction. 

Not one to disappoint, Anna turned the key and heard the engine roar to life. “Alright, Benny!” She said as she shifted the car into gear and turned it toward the ocean.

The sun was mostly set by the time they rolled up to the warehouse on Benjamin street. Like the rest of the shipyard, the warehouse was dirty and smelly and had an air of unsavoriness. 

Anna parked in an alleyway about a block away, in the shadow of one of the buildings. In the dim twilight, everything was grey and foreboding, but she led the way to the car’s trunk and handed Jo a small knife. She was impressed by the way the other girl handled it, like she knew perfectly well what she was doing. 

“Well, look at little miss steak knife. Who knew.”

Jo smiled sheepishly. “I was not on my game the other night. Don’t worry, I know my way around a weapon.”

Anna snorted. “Yeah, I saw your apartment. Out of all the weapons at your disposal, and you picked the smallest, dullest knife…”

“I did use it to open a window, not to start chopping at people,” Jo said defensively. “I wasn’t really expecting to meet anyone in there. That was just…serendipity.”

Anna smiled, blushing for what felt like the hundredth time in the last day. Opening a case at the back of the trunk, she pulled out a small pistol, with a mother of pearl handle. With the cold gun snug in her palm, she made herself take a deep breath, finding her center and reminding herself that she was capable, and in control. 

Jo looked at her appraisingly. “Cute gun. I don’t know why I’m surprised after the whole episode with the lock picking.”

Anna grinned, thankful for their little rapport. It made her feel more prepared and calm than any of her internalized monologues had so far. 

“That’s what happens when you give a girl endless resources and no supervision whatsoever. At some point my parents decided to stop trying to keep me in check. Ignorance is bliss, and luckily for you I have become quite a good shot.”

“Sounds good to me. After you, wielder-of-the-better-weapon.” She gestured regally to the path towards Waters’ warehouse, and the two set off through the dying light. 

They listened at the old wooden door for what felt like an eternity, but heard nothing. Jo gave Anna a meaningful look, and Anna found that she’d gotten to know the other girl well enough that she recognized the message: _stand back._

She did so, and watched silently as Jo shot a calculating glance at the door: old and wooden, it had endured enough rainstorms and humid summer days that when she raised her booted foot and kicked it solidly above the handle, it came off its hinges with an almost wet crack and thudded onto the ground. 

There was a cloud of dust after the door fell, and the two girls stood perfectly still, awaiting the backlash: Anna found herself prepared for an ambush, despite her certainty that the place was empty from only a few moments ago. 

When nothing happened, though, the girls looked at one another, and smiled with almost-laughter when they recognized the trepidation in each other’s eyes. Their weapons still at the ready, Jo led the way into the dark building, going slowly as their eyes adjusted to the near-pitch-blacknesses within. 

Looking around, Anna found that it looked exactly like she ought to have expected it to: not filled with fully armed goons laying in wait to attack them, but like a dirty warehouse filled with crates and ropes and dust. There were mounted lanterns on the walls, but none were lit. Jo switched on the flashlight she’d pulled from Anna’s trunk and swung it around at some of the crates, which were unlabeled. 

They didn’t speak as they roamed around, but as they worked their way through the labyrinthine path left by the crates, they found a group towards the back wall that were surrounded by large footprints in the dusty floor, and Jo picked up a crowbar that was propped up against the wall. 

Handing the flashlight to Anna, she steadied herself above one of the crates and muscled it open with the crowbar, letting out a grunt as she managed to pry the lid off. Anna set the flashlight down and helped her move the lid aside, and peering inside, Jo let out a low whistle. 

“Well, now we know where Jane got all that cocaine,” Jo said, reaching in and moving one of the small brown packages, unmistakably identical to the one they’d found under Jane’s floorboard. 

Anna peered in with her, trying to gauge about how many individual packages there were, when they heard a foot scuff against the ground behind them. In an instant, Anna had twirled around, raising her gun and jumping onto one of the nearby crates. Jo’s knife was in her hand, and she’d grabbed the flashlight, pointing it towards the source of the sound. 

“Don’t move!” Anna said, hoping she sounded more authoritative than shrill. The beam of the flashlight found its target, and Anna sized him up: he was just a kid, gangly and freckled and stricken. She felt her grip loosen on the gun, her finger slipping off of the trigger, but she didn’t lower it. 

“Who are you?” Jo demanded, her voice hard. The kid jumped, backing into the wall and whimpering. 

“I’m…I’m Jimmy…” he said, his voice filled with terror. 

“Jimmy,” Anna said, her voice a shade or two softer than Jo’s but still demanding. “What are you doing here?”

“They told me to keep watch,” he said, his eyes trained on the mouth of her gun. 

“Who is ‘they?’” Jo asked. 

“Mr. Waters. And Mr. Shelby, and Mr. Franklin.”

 Anna and Jo looked at each other for a moment. Softer still, Anna tried a question. “Did you know Jane Charles?”

At this, the boy let out a pitiful cry. He sank down against the wall, nearly to the ground. “We didn’t know they would do that to her. I swear, I liked Jane. So did the others. It was Mr. Waters and Mr. Shelby. We didn’t…”

Jo moved forward at this, surprising Anna when she pocketed her knife and put a consoling hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. 

“We aren’t here to hurt you. We only came to find out who killed our friend,” she told him quietly. He only cried harder, but leaned into her touch. She looked over at Anna, her eyes hard. 

“I’m thinking we should take Jimmy and go to Scotland Yard. Or Stout’s…we could find Dean, tell him. He can concoct a way to give it to them as a lead, we can stay out of it entirely.”

Anna was about to agree when she felt something icy cold meet the sensitive skin at the back of her  neck. She looked into Jo’s eyes and saw the terror in them, as her back stiffened and a hand grabbed her wrist, squeezing painfully tight until her gun fell from her grip. 

“I don’t think we can let you do that,” said a gravelly voice that was entirely too close to her ear. 

“Waters.” Jo said, her voice filled with an icy sort of fury. 

“Ms. Harvelle,” he said almost cordially. “How nice to see you again. I trust you’ve been well?”

“I’ve been better,” she replied levelly, her eyes vigilant as they scoped out the room. Anna felt horribly lost, hearing movement behind her but having no way of knowing what was happening. Even her hearing felt dulled, as though ever fiber of her being was distracted, focused on that icy ring of metal pressed to the back of her neck. 

“Well, I’d love to help you out, truly,” Waters replied, his voice still infuriatingly calm to Anna, who felt as though every part of her were on fire with terror and fear and anger and the desire to bolt. “But it looks like you may know a little more than would be good for you.”

“Like Jane?” Jo tried, her eyes still focused, her hand moving almost imperceptibly towards her pocket. Anna trained her eyes on those fingers as they inched, glacially slow, towards that hidden knife. A throwing dagger that she was praying that Jo really knew how to use. 

“Just like Ms. Charles! An apt comparison, wouldn’t you say Mr. Shelby?” Anna heard a grunt from somewhere to her left and struggled to focus on those sounds, to try and map out the new inhabitants of the warehouse. 

“So that was it? She learned too much, and you killed her.”

“Perhaps I spoke too quickly, you don’t know too much after all,” Waters said, a slimy laugh slithering from his lips. “Ms. Charles was the contact. She helped us bring the product here, she helped us find places to sell it. She was, in many ways, the mastermind of the entire operation.”

Jo looked aghast. “Then…you killed her to take it from her? For the money?”

“Wrong again,” he chuckled. “She turned soft on us. She found out Mr. Shelby had been making some contacts of his own: young, naive boys, like the one’s at your Stout’s. Like Jimmy here,” he added, waved dismissively at the now utterly terrified boy still backed into the wall. “Young people who felt apart from the rest of society, who were an easy sell.” His voice turned more distasteful. “Evidently Ms. Charles had some strange, arbitrary morals. She didn’t like the way things were turning, and she was preparing to turn the thing around, to frame myself and Mr. Shelby for the entire operation. I’m sure you can see where we might not have liked that idea.”

“It was Jane…” murmured Anna, horrified. Her friend, who had endured with her those seemingly endless garden parties and with whom, only days earlier, she’d snickered with over the trivial gossip and the tasteless comments of their mothers. 

“So you do speak,” Mr. Waters said, sizing her up. “You I don’t know…but that’s no matter. I’m sure Ms. Harvelle will be pleased to have your company, wherever it is you’ll end up when we’ve finished with you.”

She felt the gun press harder to the back of her skull, the metal no longer cold, but seemingly red hot. Her eyes shut and she ground her teeth together, unable to move from the terror of it when she heard the gunshot.


	9. Chapter 9

For a moment, Anna believed she was dead. She was surprised by how very similar it felt to being alive. She wondered if her body wasn’t registering the pain because it had already begun to die: as a matter of fact, she was keenly aware still of the gun pressed to her back, and she wondered if something had gone wrong. Perhaps this was what it felt like to die: a moment feeling like a thousand moments, as the universe decided what it had ought to do with her, or with what was left of her after her body crumpled to the ground. 

Of course though, she was not dead. She felt a little sheepish as she realized it, and as Waters instead fell down, sprawled in an undignified sort of heap at her feet. Her eyes now open, finally registering what had happened, she gained enough of her senses back to kick his gun away from his limp hands, watching the pool of blood as it blossomed around her boots from his chest, and looking into his eyes as the life drained out of them: it was with a sick sort of satisfaction that she saw a stream of blood leak from between his lips, as though in answer to Jane’s own end. 

The satisfaction did not last though, as she stepped back in horror, spinning around to see Jimmy, shaking from head to foot, her pearly handled pistol in his hands and tears streaming freely down his face. 

“I had to, right? He’d have killed you.” Jimmy looked desperate for validation, but Anna spun away from him, tackling Mr. Shelby in one jump. Pinning him to the ground, she watched as Jo understood and took a length of rope down from a nail on the wall. She tossed it to Anna, who set about tying up the now whimpering Shelby. Wisely, Jo took the gun out of Jimmy's shaky hands, gently talking to him and working to calm him down. He continued to cry, and although it was getting to be a little old, Anna couldn't really blame him. 

Jo looked at Anna, her expression a little unreadable. As she opened her mouth to speak, though, the sound of pounding footsteps entered the warehouse. The two jumped, ready for the worst, but then Jo grabbed Anna's hands, her face breaking into a smile as she recognized Dean's voice. "It's ok! It's all going to be fine," she said, her voice cracking with the relief of it. 

The next couple of hours were largely a blur. Dean was not fool, and he and Jo didn't let on to the other detectives that they had ever met before. Their acting even impressed Anna, who watched carefully, looking to follow their lead. Jo was quick to improvise, agreeing with an adding to Dean's account of his lead--Anna surmised it must've come from Benny, was Jo deftly let him lead her story, weaving a tale about her and her cousin Anna coming down to the shipyard looking for their friend, who sold sandwiches out of a stand to the fishermen. The detectives, strangely enough, were willing to believe this, and Jimmy didn't try to contradict it as he told his own account of the self defense shot he'd taken, the gunshot that had drawn the girls into the warehouse. After a time, Jo shot a daring but meaningful look at Dean, who spoke to his superiors and told them that they could leave, as long as they provided their addresses, should follow-up questioning be required. 

Jo led Anna out, grasping her hand like a vice. She didn't speak as they got in the car, didn't speak as Anna turned the key and drove away from that moonlit alley and away from the shipyard and the blood and the horror and choking fear that had been just that evening, but already felt a world away, like it couldn't possibly exist in the same world where they could sit in Anna's car and trundle up uneven roads in the starlight. 

Still silent, Jo pointed to a little spot up one of the hills as they drove back towards the part of town that Stout's was in. Anna pulled over, parking the car and looking over at Jo. She was still shaken, still having trouble processing everything that had happened. 

Jo, however, didn't hesitate. As Anna stopped the engine, she slipped out and moved to the front of the vehicle, hopping up onto the hood and leaning back against the windshield. Anna joined her, unsure what to expect. 

Jo didn't seem in the mood for playing it safe, though. After the last...could it really only be a couple of days? Less? They had spent so much time gauging the other's reaction, waiting to see what the next move had ought to be. But Jo barreled on, speaking like there was a momentum behind her words that had been waiting for release. 

"I thought you were going to die. I thought he had shot you, when that goddamn gun went off, and I was going to kill him. With the knife, with my hands, with...whatever," her voice was tight and too loud and a little shrill, and she kept talking, almost babbling. "I've never been that scared in my life, like I was when I heard that gunshot. I have never, ever been so terrified..." 

She put her hands over her face, and Anna automatically reached over to pull them down, struggling to provide some sort of comfort. She had expected Jo to say...anything else. By now, her own fear of a few hours ago was entirely eclipsed: by the newfound knowledge that Jane had been so different than she'd thought, by the worry that Jimmy would begin telling a new story now that they were gone from the warehouse. By the memory of that pool of blood, and the gurgling sigh that had accompanied it as she watched the life leave a man's body. And here was Jo, who she had met maybe 36 hours ago, babbling about Anna having been in danger. They'd both been in danger, and now that that gun was off her neck Anna saw little difference between her own predicament and that of her friend--she'd have died a few seconds earlier. It didn't seem like...more. Like something for Jo to still be so worked up about.

But as she opened her mouth to say this, it was met instead with Jo's own lips: her desperate hands left Anna's own and clung to her, to her shoulders and her hair, and Anna was totally dumbfounded. She felt her hands spring to life, though, and reply to Jo's embrace. She felt her lips answer as well, and she felt the hot tears rolling down Jo's lips and she couldn't help but laugh a little, ever so softly, and whisper, "It's fine, we're fine. It's ok."

Jo laughed back, tears still falling, and the two sank into each other's arms, their faces pressed into shoulders and their breath coming in little gasps. But after a time, they felt calmer, and they climbed back into the car. And Anna drove them home to Stout's.


	10. Chapter 10

“So,” Anna said, sprawling across the bed and running her fingers along the seams of Jo’s soft flannel shirt. “Looks like the bar is saved.”

“Thanks to you, and Dean,” Jo agreed, reaching out to touch Anna affectionately. 

“Well, what can I say? It wouldn’t do for my girlfriend to be out of a job. What would my Mother say?”

Jo smiled and Anna laughed softly. “You know what I was thinking, though?” Jo asked quietly. 

“Hmm?”

“Well, you were saying you get bored, hiding up in that luxurious apartment of yours.”

“I most certainly do,” Anna agreed, still lazily tracing the stitched lines of the shirt with her fingertips. 

“Well, I feel bad for you; poor princess, locked away up in her tower with her cat and her books.”

Anna scrunched up her nose. “That’s a terrible comparison,” she said, finally sitting up to look at Jo. 

“It is,” Jo agreed. “But you do look like a princess.”

“Are you supposed to be my knight?” Anna asked dubiously. 

“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘swarthy bartend detective,’” Jo said thoughtfully, and Anna laughed and fell back down onto the bed. 

“What is your point?” Anna asked finally, as Jo laid down next to her and ran her finger’s through her lover’s gleaming red hair. 

“Well, I was thinking that you might like to come down to Stout’s some nights and try your hand at the bartend part. Not sure anyone could describe you as swarthy, though…”

Anna’s eyes lit up. “Really?” She asked, her voice quiet. 

Jo felt embarrassed: the words were simple, but the meaning behind them was more profound than she was used to expressing. 

“Well, only if you wanted to. I just thought, hey, maybe you’d like to. And you know Dorothy and Charlie and Bela...I don’t know, I just thought, we made a pretty good team. As detectives. And Dorothy’s a bounty hunter, she’s always got leads on stuff like that, and I always almost take her up on her offers when she asks if I want to follow one up...and Charlie and Bela, you know, they’re thieves but they don’t go in on anything big, but they know stuff…”

She was rambling now, and she felt her whole face turn hot and red. 

“So...you’re proposing that I come to work at your bar, where you illegally encourage homosexual activity, and take leads from your homosexual criminal friends and work with you as a sort of underground, pseudo-criminal detective duo,” Anna said slowly, staring at Jo. 

Jo could do nothing but close her eyes. 

“Oh my god, nevermind,” she said. She was now certain that her face was the temperature of the surface of the sun.

When she finally dared to peek over at Anna again, she saw the girl staring at the ceiling in wonder. 

“This is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me,” Anna said quietly. 

Jo burst out in nervous laughter, and Anna just smiled, trying to hide that she was near tears. 

“You really think we make a good team, huh?” she asked, trying to adopt a more confident tone. 

“Definitely,” Jo said. “We found Jane’s killer, didn’t we?”

“That was 90% luck,” Anna said firmly. "Plus, we knew the victim. We practically had it handed to us, by the end."

“That’s what makes it like our starter case,” Jo said, finally relaxing. “Just imagine what we can do once we have some practice.”

Anna smiled in tacit agreement, turning her eyes back to Jo. “I guess we’ll just have to see what we’re capable of,” she said, and Jo saw her eyes shift back to that confident, cat-like gleam: it was almost a dare, and Jo was looking forward to it. 


End file.
